


subglubulation party

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Tumblr Fills [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: 100kinks ficlist, Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alternian Empire, Biting, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Kissing, Masturbation, Nookworms, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Quadrant Vacillation, References to Canon, References to Torture, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Xeno, and a side of extra xeno, play beach games get beach prizes, sex as diplomacy, terrible people are terrible together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: So there's like this ficlist floating around tumblr, I'm going to fill it.You can find the ficlisthere.Tags to be added as kinks get filled.





	1. there's a hole in my bucket, dear liza, a hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. Sex game (e.g. first to come loses)

"That's disgustin', clownfish, you lyin'. Ain't nobaydy who'd do that ship, not even a fucking clown."

"Wouldst a motherfucker lie to thee?" He rolls his head round on his shoulders while her claws dragged through the knots in his mane of hair. Tips just gently clawing over his scalp in ways he would have allowed nobody else to get so close and motherfucking intimate with his person. His trust is a thing not given out to many, and she's the only one he'd let touch him like this. Soft and terrible gentle, in ways that could slice a troll to pieces in inner ways unseen.

" _Yes_ ," she says flat, with that wall-eyed terrible stare that he meets with his own sly smile. He's one of the few who can; her gaze is monstrous and can swallow a troll whole. With him, just starts his nook pulsing, thinking on all the things she can do to a motherfucker if she got a mind. He ain't right. He ain't never been right. "You're yanking my anchor."

He trails his fingers up her thigh, where she's lounging about with him in the comfort of her palace rooms, all cozied up on cuddlenubs. Right out of a bubble and fluff porno, except how she slaps his grasping frond away real quick. Lips all pursed up contemptuous and glubbing, like makes him want to kiss and bite. Get a little taste of imperial blood, saltiest thing he's ever had flow over his flavourslab, bitter as the motherfucking withered cardiopusher in her chest.

"Well, and a motherfucker may do that, but about this game, I do not put facegash to shape around a lie." The Grand Highblood of Alternia steeples his fingers together, wrists resting on his chest as he takes on a lecturing tone. Much like a one he'd use on a roomful of clownish wigglers, solemn and portentous as she sighs in disgust. "The game is an easy one. First one to fill the pail wins."

"Yeah."

"And the loser swallows what's in the pail."

" _Both_ of 'em?"

"Maybe. Sometimes. Usually just their motherfucking own, less likely to make a motherfucker puke, since they're just getting back what they gave," he says in a dreamy tone. She sounds like she doesn't want to be interested, but can't help but be. Bitch always did like a shipwreck, watching it go down and sink. Can't grab her oculars away, even when they're just the ones watching the inner movie on the inside of her thinkpan. "Other penalties may be motherfucking determined ahead of time, according to acts of whimsy and maybe revenge. Everybody likes a good motherfucking bet, likes to think they gonna win."

"How many tides did you lose, motherglubber?"

"Not once."

Shit, hadn't that all been a long time ago. He'd worn a different face, getting up in the evening hadn't hurt all the way through his calcium-based supportsticks, and his hide had suffered quite a few less motherfucking punctures. Been all wide-oculared and open mouth, gaping at miracles that he knew now were show and sham. Fuck it. Been a long time since he'd been getting schoolfed, when he was one of a crowd of clowns instead of their motherfucking Eldest Brother.

"Not once?" Shit, maybe he ought to have said he had and lied his motherfucking face off, because he can hear her stirring behind him. Bangles all a rolling clatter as she shifts her graspers and moves her walking stub, jingle jingle jangle. Musical, almost. If not as motherfucking threatening as a shaker venomnoodle getting its mad dance on. "Let's motherfucking sea if that's true."

"Aw, no, c'mon," he objects because fuck it, even as funny as watching the fishta swallow up a whole bucket of her own slurry with his own as a chaser would be, he ain't sure he wants to go down this path. Ain't that often that his self preservation stirs, but he does motherfucking have an ounce. And this is fucking dangerous territory to go treading in, taking the Empress along behind. He wished he'd never answered no motherfucking question with no motherfucking game. "Just a wiggler game, bitch. Why you wanna go acting like a snotty sniffnoded adofuckin'lescent?"

Her claws dig into his shoulder and he turns his head, sitting up from his relaxed slouch. Aw, motherfucker. Her grin is monstrous, and her eyes gleam, lights catching on the corners of her winged-out, blinged up, ocular protectors. 

"Betta I can beat ya though, clownfish." He makes a sound, and she scoffs. Lip curling back to expose her needle fangs. "Wrasse manta, _scared?_ "

Well, fuck _that_. She deserves everything that's coming to her and he's going to enjoy watching her drink that shit down.

"Bring it, seabitch."

She laughs that wicked razorsharp chuckle that always sends prickles of pitch to the bases of his horns, and slaps him on the back, before getting up to go and fetch two buckets out of the general thingtrap, and he's still pissed enough not to care if this is a mistake. Always knows what buttons to go pressing on a brother, get him thinking with his bulge and not his thinkpan. He thinks back to that momentary flicker of dismay he'd had when she'd pressed on to play the game, later.

Later, yeah. Like when he's got metal between the corners of his fangs and he's grimly swallowing down wave after wave of slurry as she chants 'chug, chug, chug' like a cadet Ruffianihilator at festival with a kegful of yeast-based soporofic to wade through. He's never gonna believe her when she says she ain't heard of no fucking game he's said he played, ever again. Especially not if it means he's gonna wind up maybe being the motherfucking gag, and feeling his hungersack convulse in distaste over being filled with something that ain't nutritious, and definitely ain't no shade of delicious.

This fucking bitch.


	2. with my feet on the back of your neck, I'll motherglubbin rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. First time

He's an ancient wreck of the Empire As Is, when she first takes the throne.

There's blood on her trident, but it's not hers even if it's the same colour as the one swimming through her veins. The blood on her swimsuit isn't hers either. Or the blood on her skin. There's a lot more fucking skin than swimsuit, she'd wanted every motherglubber to see just how little she was afraid of the old beach who was sitting in what was _her_ fucking throne. All she'd had on of jewellery were golden bracers to cover the inner softness of her forearms, and her hair had been swept back out of her face with a tiny crown while she sauntered onto the killing fields in a black bikini bottom and nothing else. Bare footed in the sand. Gills glistening and on display, fringed with fuchsia filaments, grubscars visible and one jagged scar cutting across her shoulder and down between her rumblespheres from where a lusus had tried to her her when she'd been a wiggler. She'd eaten IT, in the end, and enjoyed every bitter disgusting mouthful.

Lusus ain't always good eating. Especially not the deep and old kinds. But anything that tried eating her, she was going to choke it down to the very last mouthful and so serve the bleary-eyed thing right.

What is she gonna do about this other bleary-eyed ancient motherfucker, huh? Meenah don't want to reach out to him first, not special anywave. Don't want to look weak. Maybe they can't get rid of her fast, ain't no other grub swimming around with her kind of blood. Ha, she'd made sure of that. There's a damn sight fewer of them now, she'd made a point of searching them out, and culling them quick and quiet. Especially the ones who looked like they were gonna make a bid for the throne, but all the others too. Doesn't mean that maybe they wouldn't thinking of it. Her courtiers, her fucking bootlickers and tonguescrapers. She ain't trust them.

Ain't trust nobaydy.

Trust gets you fucked over real quick, she learned that quick and hard when she'd been barely out of first pupation. Not likely to forget it now. Drumming her fingers against the arm of the throne she was slouching in, all shell and lusus-bone outlaid with gold, she straightens up as an idea comes to her.

She's gonna go see him. An _inspection_. Coming around to check shit out, put him on the backprong where he gotta worry about what _she's_ gonna shell him. That's the motherglubbing prize-identifying cellulose slip right there. Meenah calls over one of her fucking courtiers, who gives her an eyeballing like he thinks she won't notice, and tells him to arrange it. That's the point of being Empress right, people get the shit work done _for_ you.

Apparently he sends the envoy back in a bucket. In a few buckets, ain't no fucking way one seadweller is gonna fit in just one bucket. 

Her answer to that is to kick in his fucking door her own fucking shellf, ain't nobody else around this shitheap that could get things motherglubbing _done_. He's a mountain on a throne of skulls, looming in the dark like it's meant to frighten the piss outta her, and she throws her head back and saunters in. Takes each and every step deliberate, culling fork leaned up against her shoulder as the diamonds in her shoes and her glasses catch the light. Spray it in shards about her like foam on sand as she goes deeper into the dark. Like _she's_ afraid of the fucking dark, does he know who her mother is? Where she's from? What she's swam in and called all her own hive, her motherfucking territory?

This jank bass motherfucking clown gonna regret a whole lot of ship when she's done with him.

"You know, I ain't even mad that you chopped up one of those nooklickers," she says, setting one end of her double-ended trident on the floor as she stares up at him where he's seated on his throne. The room smells like an abattoir, and she can hear him breathing, feel it trickle down her spine like venomcrawlers. It's annoying, but she can shake it off and stare him straight in the glubbing ocular like ain't nofin going on. He _below_ her, and he betta fucking remember that. "Just mad that you ain't responded to my invicraytation, clownfish."

"... **most motherfucking remiss of a wicked brother**...." His voice echoes around her head like it's meant to be frightening, and she doesn't even shudder. Just walks straight up to his throne and sinks one end of her trident into the arm before pulling herself up onto it. Her feet straddle his knees, jabbing a way with the point of her boots to make him pull them together so she can get steady footing on the seat of the throne and he slouches down against the back in front of her. That ludicrous fucking piece of crotcharmour pointing at her all impudent. She's half tempted to put her trident through _that_ \- see how searious he took her then. "... _not responding to a bitch's jerk to the leash_..."

"Buoy, when I jerk your leash, you'll minnow it for shore," she says sharpish, tongue sharp as a stingcritter and she stares into his purple eyes as they glow. Trying to overpower her, break her down, roll her down and in the depths of his mind. Meenah gives her head a rough shake and thinks herself strong, thinks herself big and his eyes widen a little as she grabs at a grasperful of greasy hair. Fucking disgusting; "- don't you fucking wash?" she hisses out between her fangs as she rubs the strands between her fingers and feels some sort of pang right in her thoracic cavity that she shakes off with an effort. "Ain't you take of yourshellf, you hideous fucking wreck?"

" **...concern ill becomes one of you saltlicking whimsyless fish...** " His voice ripples and pulses through her head like waves in a tidal pool and she feels the corner of her eye twitch. She's gonna do somefin to him, she just ain't figured out what yet. And her fingers are still rubbing at his hair like it's gonna make the greasy strands, caked at the ends with blood and paint, clean. " _...would it make you feel better if a motherfucker attended you in your palace next time, little princess?_ "

"I'm the _motherfucking Empress_ , and you betta not fo'c'net it," she hissed through her teeth in a sudden murderous rage and her hands grab his hair at both sides, yanking him up out of his seat on the throne. She's still using him for a balance point, leaning back a little and ready to jump as she almost drags him up to her, mouth set and fangs showing in a snarl as her muscles ripple under her skin. "Otherwise I'll have myshellf a set of brand new clowns, all ready to jump to entertain _me_ , or there won't be any of ya left atoll."

He laughs at her. _Laughs_.

Meenah slaps him across the face so hard her rings rip his cheek open, sends purple splattering across her bodysuit. Good thing it's black, don't show the blood. At that, he finally lifts himself out of the throne and she rides him as he rises, claws digging into his neck and shoulder as she snarls right fucking back. Getting her heels jammed into soft places on his body as his hands near wrap around her waist thumb to thumb at the small of her back and finger to finger across her torso, and her trident clatters to the ground as a forgotten thing. 

"I will motherfucking _own_ you," she whispers, and she can feel the chill in the air like ice on the seas. She's no fucking tropical flower, she ain't gonna wilt under the rage of his storm that she can feel gathering, beating at her mind like it's gonna find a way in. She's stronger than him. She's stronger than anybody. "You're gonna be _mine_ -"

" **YOURS** ," he growls back at her, and he finally deigns to use his hands to try and pull her off. She stabs down with her heel, wedging it into his belt and gripping harder at his hair as her lips peel back from her teeth. " _A motherfucker doesn't fucking think so_ -"

"Mine," she spits in his face, "everyfin is fucking mine now, you wreck! I'm your fucking Empress-"

" **A brother ain't declared SHIT either way -** " He tries to shake her off, and she bites into his ear, that stunted mimicry of an earfin that he's motherfucking flapping around here and he roars. What the subjuggulators outside think, of all the noise they're making, she don't even care. " _Little MOTHERFUCKING BITCH-_ "

She knees him in the gut and slips, her heels raking against his clothes as her hands tangle in his hair. Leaves her kicking midair and he throws her. She feels his hair slip through her fingers like eels, and she twists to land skidding on her feet and snatches up her culling fork on the way past. Eyes narrowed, keeping her shoulders down and making herself a small target, she watches as his hands manifest juggling clubs. It's a trick of proportion, but they look as big as she is.

Meenah gets his feet out from under him with a sweep of her trident, twisting out of range as he grabs for her, tries to club her down. That's not where she leaves things as he gets off of the floor, staggering with the inertia of his own massive body. Her lip curls, ugly and showing fang before she hits him over the horns and back of the head with her trident. The snarl she gets would make a lesser troll piss themselves; she spins her trident and gives him the arch of it across his face as he lunges. Meenah skips back and trips, goes down and stabs backwards blindly as she falls in a puddle of - fucking _something_ \- it's sticky as SHELL.

It's in her fucking HAIR.

She shrieks wordless rage and goes for him again, more angry about whatever nasty shit on his fucking _floors_ is now in her cod damn _hair_ than the fact that he's attacked her. And her his Empress and all too. She winds up on the bottom, and bites him, savages his mouth and claws at his back before heaving with a twist of her hip and push of her foot so she's the one on top. A snatch of her frond and she got her trident back in her hand and she eases down, pressing it against his throat as her ass rests almost on top of his bonebulge-shield. This _motherfucker_. She should cull him, right here, right now.

"You fuckin' _nasty_ , wash yoar damn floor," she spits at him and presses down as he chuckles dryly, both their eyes spinning, glowing red-orange. Dangerous colour to be wearing in a motherfucking ocular, for a highblood, she has to wonder how close she is to the same. And she's the highest, and he's bare two steps below. And old. He's motherfucking ancient, and she gets a shudder down her cartiliginous spinal support the same way she had done the time she came across a behemoth, a shark, drifting through her waters when she'd been a wiggler. Before she'd got all high and fucking mighty. "- _and your FUCKING hair!_ " She spits blood, feeling the sweet taste of pitch rise up in her mouth, smelling it off him too. Her fangs itch, and she can't stop swallowing as fuchsia material floods her mouth. "Disgusting-"

_SAYS THE ONE WAFTING SPADES ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE_

"Fuck you-"

**HARK AT THIS MOTHERFUCKING TINY BITCH I GOT MY GRASPERS ON RIGHT HERE**

"Eat my SHIT-" She kisses him again, and feels him open his mouth. His fangs tear at the corners of her lips as she gags, brings up material from the glands in her throat and feels it pass to his mouth. Mixing fuchsia with deep purple, so old and cold. She shrieks as he sits up, trying to press her culling fork back against his throat, force him down. He gags, and she can feel the snarl in him rumbling all through her bones. Maybe she's shut him up facegash-wise but she hasn't _shut him up_ \- his voice is bouncing all the way around her fucking thinkpan like a rolypoly around a steel bowl. Fucking _mindtwisters_ , and fucking clowns with their motherglubbing chucklevoodoos too. Seriously they could all get pailed right up the 'chute. "Fuck YOU-"

_PASSIONATE MOTHERFUCKING BITCH WITH YOUR PITCH UP_

"Shut your _fucking_ mouth-"

** A BITCH HASN'T GONE TO THE POINT WHERE A MOTHERFUCKER FEELS LIKE SHUTTING THE FUCK UP YET. SHOW ME HOW YOU'RE GOING TO AMUSE ME, SEASCUM**

She shrieks again, breathless, wordless, _frustrated_ , and pulls the ridiculous fucking thing that's been bumping her in the nook down and throws it to the side violently. It clangs off a wall, and she fumbles with their pants. This time, he helps and she groans as their boneshields grate against each other, making him put his thighs around hers. Like her legs were going to stretch that wide, around his fucking girth. Basshoal.

Feels the grind of their bonebulges against each other as she digs her fingers into his disgusting, gross, NASTY AS FUCK hair and holds on, yanks and pulls. Pulls that massive head with its towering horns down to her until she can bite and shred his mouth, throat convulsing as the slurry fills her mouth, coming up from the genematerial sacks in her throat. She can taste his material coming in a lukewarm wave to her lips until it's swirling across her tongue, purple and fuchsia staining down their chins as they cling and kiss and _bite_. She rakes her claws down his sides, and screams as his claws dig into her skin and draw a long artful blaze of agony down her back. Shredding her fucking suit. Ain't gonna be walking out of here in that, that was for fucking sure.

Meenah ain't got no clue on where he found a bucket from, but she can hear the metallic clink-tink of slurry hitting the pail as they bite and claw at each other in a slow frenzy. Locked together at the mouth, her eyes gone hazy from spades euphoria as pain becomes pleasure, and all she wants to do is make him motherfucking _hurt_. They bleed, all over the damn floor, and the plinkity-plink-tinkle of slurry hitting the pail continues as they feast at each other's mouths. Shredding their lips to pieces, fangs going turn and turn about. His crooked, hungry ones and her own, straight and fine as needles. 

His thick arms crush her, squeezing her tight as she endeavours to give as good as she fucking gets. Her claws rake and scratch, and he just digs his in against her back and the low half of her sides near her hips, worming their way through her chitin until she fucking screams her agonies into his mouth. He's making low noises back, deep and slow as rollers in a storm and she swallows them down. She's almost choking on the slurry she keeps coughing up, and the pail fills. It fills up between them, the rim between their knees clenched tight and she gets her fingers into the edge of a vestigial gill and fucking _yanks_ , and the feeling of his surprised and enraged shout in her head is like a thunderclap that echoes from one side of her pan to the other in an aching roll.

But it ain't her who goes down.

It's him.

Meenah knows she's won and she bites him even more savagely, keeping her fingers curled and the tips of her claws inside his jank-ass slits on his sides. Almost a seadweller, just couldn't motherfucking cut it. His material tastes like surrender now, and she groans in triumph. Hitches her leg up a little higher to grind the rasp of her belly and the shield of her bonebulge harder against his and lets the whole pleasure of the thing sweep her away.

It wasn't what she'd planned, but it had motherfucking worked. Meenah doesn't even try to salvage her suit to wear out, just strips out of it and then relaces her boots all the fucking way up her calf. This shitheel motherfucker. Look what he'd done to her threads, shit was motherfucking unrespectful. She's still got her jewellery on, and she spins a compartment on the handle of her culling fork to pull out a tube of lip paint. Uncaps it, then paints her bleeding mouth back to fuchsia tinted glory as she ignores him, lying panting to the side. That's it, clownfish, that's what you fucking get when you mess with Meenah Peixes. He betta learn that lesson, and learn it reel good.

"I'm gonna expect you and your fucking lackeys at my next banquet," she says, calm and cool as a sea cucumber. Just because they'd filled a pail, didn't necessarily mean shit. She just didn't like him a whole fucking lot in that hugely spades kind of way. Fucking clownfish, this reef-faced anglerfish getting all up in her baysiness. Meenah flicks her hair and looks down at him as he waves a hand, not agreeing or agreeing with her, just spouting off that he'd heard her. "Otterwise, I'm gonna come back here."

_OH NO, NOT THAT_

"...I'd spray shut yoar glubbin' facegash, but y'ain't makoing noises at me wave that." She kicks him in the side instead and he chuckles, low and lewd in the way it rolls over her skin before he snags her ankles and brings her down on top of his recumbent form. She squawks like a seagull, and knees him vicious in those fakey-not really grown gills to make him gush out his breath in an agonised grunt, but she makes no move to get off him. "I'll come back _anywave_ , but I kinda pike the idea of you and yoars mackereling all my courtiers shit their fucking pants." She kisses him on his bruised and bloody mouth, feeling how her own lips were swollen up from proper pitch bitchbites from his real and awesome jagged fangs. Her thighs are aching and there's a low throb of satisfaction in her own self from having seen him brought low. And she didn't think he'd let her win either, it'd been a proper fight from the top down. "Woulda thought that woulda made you wanna drop by, clownfish."

**HAS SOME MERIT TO IT**

"It's got fuckloads of merit." She pulls her frondstubs through his hair and makes a face. Foul. She don't want to think about what's in her hair neither. "Just wash yoar damn panstrands at some point between minnow and then."

_MAYBE_

"Ain't no fuckin' MOBY aboat it, you betta wash that shit, or I'll fuckin' wash it for you, sea if I don't!" Meenah says real sharpish, because fuck if she's gonna let him think he can walk all over her now. A pail was one thing. A fun and fine thing, but it wasn't fucking everything. She slaps his shoulder, and peels herself off him, hearing slurry and blood part their hides in a tacky slurp as she stands back up. 

" **Will you?** "

"Will I fucking _wharf_ , basshoal?" She frowns down at him, and feels her lip curl up in a snarl. Is he still fucking with her? He's totally still fucking with her, and she is going to _FUCKING GUT HIM FOR IT_ -

" _Wash a motherfucker's hair?_ " He sounds bemused as his voice does the ripple thing inside her braincase and over the spine of her mind, and the softness of it is the only thing that stops her from taking the culling fork in her hand and ramming it straight through his belly to the spine below. It throws her. She'd meant it as a threat of some kind, maybe foreplay, and he just sounds...soft.

"...moby." The fuck is he playing at? Meenah is all fucking indesciion on the inside, so she forges ahead. It's always worked for her before - if you ain't know what to do with somefin, give it a poke. If it bothers you after that, start hitting and don't stop till it ain't moving no more. Things can't threaten you when they're dead. "If you're a good buoy. If you don't say yes to my invicraytation, you don't get ship from me, you old codfish."

" **Codfish, clownfish. Settle the motherfucking equation to one way or another, fishbitch.** "

"I'll call you what I want." She kicks him in the side, lightly. "Don't be late, or I'll find somefin worse to call you, motherglubber."

" _Such things motherfucking as?_ "

"Hagfish." She kicks him again to his chuckling growl, and slicks her hair back, checks herself and smears the purple smear down her belly out a little. Fading it at the edges. Looked like she'd gone for a roll through a crush of seasnails, and smelt like an Imperial Drone at the end of slurry collection. She felt so fucking good. "Don't test me; or I won't wash yoar fuckin' hair atoll, ever."

When she walks out of his throne room, she's more naked than she was when she won her coronation duel but she feels like she just felt the world settle under her feet like an anchor.

And the next time she throws a motherglubbing party, he's there to lounge and glower through slitted eyes at all her mincing pailscrapers. Works a fucking treat on reminding them on whose grasper grabs the leash. It's fucking her, and none of them better forget it either. Ain't like she's not the type who'll get her own fronds dirty, if that's what the situation fucking calls for. It's her Empire. Her Empire, her throne, her crown - her Subjuggulator.

And yeah. She washes his fucking hair.


	3. i'm just here for nofin much betides fuckin ship up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Kissing

Kissing him shouldn't feel so good. 

You know what he is, you know what you are. This is a fuckin crabtrap, and he's got you to crawl in one end and you ain't never getting out, you're done. You just hate him, so motherglubbing much. You've spent a long and stressful motherfucking night arguing with trolls you should just be able to cull, cod damn it. You desurf this. You need this. He's got you pressed against a pillar of your throne room and any codfish who dared could just walk in here and sea you rayght now.

Empress.

Baddest beach you ever knew.

Here wave your graspers dug real deep into his hair, pulling him down from his teeth-grindingly irritating heights to make him meet your mouth. One of his fronds boxing you in, his knee up between your thighs and just _absoboatly_ wreckin' the lines of your formal gown that you been strapped into for the sake of a propriety you prawnestly do not give one ounce of a ship aboat. But sometides you gotta, and you do for the sake of your Empire and fuck it, why do you _gotta do this ship at all?_ You grind down, and make sure to sink your claws into his scalp as your fronds rake down through his hair. Nicking a hornbed as you go for good fuckin measure.

He swallows his roar of outrage, you can feel it shaking in his thoracic cavity, and kisses you harder. A warmer tongue than yours presses into your mouth and you allow him that fuckin impertinence, while your claws shred their way through his shirt. He's gotten a little smarter - your claws just skate over his ogrehide vest. This fucker. Your clownfish, your motherfucking wicked barkbeast. You hate him. You hate how he makos you feel, how he makes you feel atoll. 

"Bitch," he hisses out, and you nip at his lips with your fangs before he swoops down to crush his mouth against yours again. His hand's got a grip on one of your wrists, and you 'couda throw him off in a pusherbeat. You could mako him fly across half the block. But you don't. You kiss him back, you let his tongue into your mouth waveout biting it off, and you moan. 

He knows you can beat him, and that's moray than half the fun. Anytide he gets you like this, he knows it's becrayse you _let_ him. Fucks him up. Gets right under his skin. He hates it, he hates you. You claw your way under his skin in bloody, visible ways and you fuckin glory in it. The way his fangs grate over yours, the sweet and rotten taste of his mouth. You've had Faygo - you hated it. He tastes like Faygo could taste like if it could fester. Corrupt.

Black and filthy and sweet and _fucking terribubble_.

"Think I'm gonna krill that curl-horned fuckfish, gonna sink my trident right down his throat so it pierces his motherfucking nook, ain't like he ever used it for anyfin anywave," you mention, as his mouth moves down to your throat. You can feel the laces on his pants go, slip, he's pressing so close next to you. Skirts rucked up around your thighs like you some kinda fuckin common pailbitch, his skin radiating warmth against your thighs as he pushes the sleek fabric up even higher. "You up for it, buoy?"

His eyes glow, red-orange and you grin. Sharp-fanged and edged, remora than enough to beat his painted smile.

"You know it, wicked sista."

And that's all you need to know. That's all you need to ask. And you been answered, in a wave that holds true and proper weight.

You hate him, you'd claw his insides out and eat them to break your fast of a twilight but. He got your back. 

So maybe you'll stick to just using your gash for kissing him for the minnow, rather than getting into his soft and tender insides. 

Ain't like he's bad at it. For a fucking clown. You snarl, and grab him by the horns, stretching your fronds until you can curl your stubs around the hewn bases and haul him back in for another satisfyingly black, bitter kiss.


	4. o, worm?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\. Sex toys

"That ship is gettin' noweir near my fuckin' nook."

You chuckle to yourself as her voice sounds out flat and vengeful and all made of cold slick venom, letting the nookworm curl around your fingers. Stubby little legs pricking at your skin, leaving dimples in your hide as you cock an eyebrow at her. Wait. Don't say a fucking thing. She knows what's up. You let her play her games last time, let some spineless fucking jellyfish plough your sacred motherfucking nook. Sure, you'd culled a motherfucking BLASPHEMING FISH after, but that was _after_. And if she'd been gonna miss the bitch's company, then she shouldn't have had a bitch fuck your nook while her Imperial bulge was wiggling its way into your 'chute. Like you'd been gonna let any motherfucker live besides her, who had that in her memory.

You'd done it. Held up your half of a bargain.

Now it's her turn.

Now, she could bitch out, plead Imperial privilege and _act like a fucking pussy bitch_ , but you watch her chew her lip and tap her pointing stubs rat-a-tat-tat with her claws like a drumroll, and you know she ain't gonna. She gonna give you what you fuckin' want, and what you want is her flat on her back on your platform while she takes a ride of the worm. You've chosen a big one, particular. She can take it - she can take _you_ , and not even squirm. Her nook is a cavernous void. To be blasphemously motherfucking honest, you ain't even got an idea as to where she packs it. 

Bitch ain't even that big. She only an itty bitty, when you compare her against your gracious self.

"...FIN. _Fin_." You just keep watching her as she pouts and struts her way to your platform - where she hates going. Hates meeting you here, in the centre of your power. Where it's all paint and Faygo and clowns and _motherfucking miracles_ , Messiahs all hail. IA IA FTHAGN _this_ , motherfuckers. She hates that shit so much, her usual generous mouth puckers up like she just bit into something rotten.

But this is what you wanted. 

And you'd paid _your_ motherfucking half of the deal you'd made between you two _SICKNASTY_ motherfuckers. 

She undresses like her bodysuit owes her fucking cash money, ripping it off herself and throwing it down, stepping out of it naked as the day she hatched. But so much more motherfucking curvaceous, ay yi yi, mama. You lick your lips and grin as she pouts and flounces her whole way to the motherfucking platorm. Almost a strut, knowing you looking at her. Knowing she looks _good_. Hips, and a nice thick ass ass ass. Curvy little 'spheres, gills in fuchsia frilled filaments down her sides, and that ASS (like hot damn!). Hair like a tidal wave, bounteous and all consuming. Skin a nice healthy shade of onyx, dark and gleaming with fragments of carapace like the best kind of jewellery. Witchybitch is the high priced kind of hooker, and she knows it. 

The bloodthirsty, glory h-h-huh-hungry Empress of Alternia sprawls across your platform like a pailvid star and spreads her legs, letting you see her nook and sheath. She runs her fronds down her sides, touching at those gillslits as you _know_ are so motherfucking sensitive. Shivers. Sighs like a monsoon, low and sonorous, seductive sounding. You walk up closer and crawl onto that motherfucking platform with its purple sheets you arranged special just for her, lividly and wretchedly neon blue nookworm tucked cozy against your thorax like you a lusus with an itty bitty grublet. Give a bitch a real nice fucking kiss - and she bites you, because of course she fucking does.

You sink your fangs into her lip, all crooked and at crosspurposes as they are, and she moans. Grabs a brother's horn by the base and pulls you closer. Kissing ain't even a thing, you like that shit so you kiss her for a while longer. Her coolblooded seasnail _bottom fucking feeding_ body cuddled up to you. A coy movement of her calf along yours, pulling at you to get you real close.

If a bitch thinks you're gonna be _distracted from your purpose_ , she is gonna be sore motherfucking disappointed. You push her under you with a surge of your graspers on her wicked hips and keep kissing her. A wicked nasty fishta knees you in the gut; you grunt and sit back to make sure she hadn't crushed the worm. Nah, still curly and chirpy as a motherfucker. Everything be fucking fine. 

"C'mon, bitch. You know how this is gonna go down," you murmur, and she curls her lip at you, showing a motherfucker her pearly whites. All thin and needlesharp. You know just how sharp, to a wicked ninja's detriment and bleeding. It all motherfucking ok though, because you make her bleed just as much back. You nuzzle, you soothe, and you put that nookworm down on her chest, right between her righteous rumblespheres. 

"Buoy, you motherfucking disgusting." Her voice is rancour, but she lets you nudge the nookworm down her body, shivering as its legs crawlcreep over her skin. Lying and letting you do it, even if she never actually tells a motherfucker _do it_. Her hide twitches in ticklish spasms, and the worm orients itself as it crawls over her belly, nudging at her sheath to coax her bulge out a grublegwidth, before continuing on down. "All y'all scumsuckers fucked up, you think it's ok to port this ship all up in your nook. Betta it's gonna give me some kinda disease..."

"Ain't no chance," you murmur, and stroke your pointing stubs along her gills as to make her shiver, tweak the tip of her unfurling bulge just a motherfucking little. Coax a shy motherfucker out a bit more. The nookworm has shifted itself down between her thighs, so blue, so bright, colourful against her skin. The garden of bulges she got blooming between her thighs as her breath hitches, and her hips twist up. "Just let it ease on in, bitch, you'll see ain't no concern to nothing..."

The nookworm is in no never mind bothered by any fucking thing that happens, what you two trolls might be talking about above its head, as it finds her nook. Sets to burrowing, as it's meant to do. Her grasper hits your forearm as you sit next to her cross-legged like a gargoyle, and her slim-fingered frond clings. _Twists_ , as her claws dig in. Draw little beads of sacred blood to the top of your hide, and you sit placid and let her. You got a better show to watch than see your husk bleed so unimportantly as that. Got them ringside seats, motherfucker. 

The best of seats, Reserved only for the hottest of shit, which you so fucking are as the nookworm butts its blunt fucking head right up against her softness, and then starts to hump its way on in. Her back arches, hips and belly lifting off the bed as her horns tear holes in your fucking platform ( _god DAMN_ , that shit was _new_ ), trying to push at something as wasn't there. Just the nookworm, wiggling. Getting its get-in on, legs pressing and crawling and disappearing right up a bitch's nook. 

You trail your claws down her belly as her hips fuck the air, and take soft hold of her bulges. Let all those Imperial tentacles wrap around your fingers as you stroke and squeeze. The nookworm's halfway in, its tail-end flipflopping about as it uses its legs to grind forward. Curling itself on in, as she shudders, shakes and her hips boogie in rhythms most motherfucking erotic, tongue curling against her fangs as they buck on up.

"Fuck - _fuck_ -"

"Got those neurotoxins working on your insides now, bitch?" you murmur into her ear as the busy little crawler does its busy little work inside her nook. Ain't like you using anything on her that you wouldn't use on yourself. That you haven't done before. Not this particular worm, but sometimes a motherfucker just did not want to _involve_ another motherfucker in getting done.

All the worm wanted out of the deal was slurry to eat, no feelings or any fucking thing else involved. You know what she's feeling now. The stretch and sting, the deep inside suck as the worm siphons slurry straight outta your globes, the prickle-scrape of the legs wiggling against the inner of your nook. From the way she's ripping your sheets to shreds, you're gonna wager as she likes it just fucking fine. Now she's got it, despite all her bitching before, how she'd made her faces and sneered at how fucking lowbrow you were. A sex parasite, how glubbing uncouth, how landie. Look at this imperial finned face fucker now, all gasp and moan, her frills and whatnots flushed to their motherfucking extremities, her ass barely having a chance to stay on the bed as her back arches. Pushes her hips up like there was someone coming down on her, into her, bulge into nook.

Ain't nothing more than the worm.

"Motherglubbing ship - you _basshoal_ , you didn't shell me it'd be like _this!_ " Her voice whines and you reach over and press her belly down. Force her to stay still as she tremors and shakes. Most powerful troll in the Empire - all unfuckingdone by an invertebrate with a pin of a brain in its pan. Undone by _you_. You can feel the worm in her, deep. It's a motherfucking miracle. She bares her fangs at you, and swipes all claws out for your gaze-nuggets. You catch her hand and pin it to the bed, she's all wracked deep with the nookworm's busy little slurry coaxers and this time, now _nowNOW_ you can hold her down. You bite her neck as you straddle her and she shrieks hoarsely as she tries to kick you in the globes, and then wails as the nookworm protests at all her moving, no doubt. Probably giving an extra headbutt to her seedflap, and pumping out more happy-horny shit to make her be still and just twitch so she ain't giving it a hard time any more.

The look on her face as you take a place on top of her hips is nothing short of glorious. Your own sacred purple is steadily dripping down your thighs from your own nook, and you settle right where you can swallow her nest of tentacles whole. Let out a deep and steady sigh, and roll your hips as you feel her deep chill pressing into you, and you throw your head back and _moan_.

It's the triumph of having pulled one over her fucking eyes, and finding out how _glorious sensitive_ an Imperial fish is to sex parasite secretions. You use a worm sometimes - you ain't never gone down like this. Not even your first time as a thin-skinned adolescent. As jumpy and as bulgehungry as a frolicsome baabeast in the beginning of a dimseason, you'd been. And this? Her? She's so much motherfucking worse, especially when you sink down onto her bulge and swallow her.

Feels good. Feels real fucking good to see her squirm, watch her gills and fins flutter like she can't get enough oxygen and you hold her under you and ride her like a motherfucking hoofbeast. Her hips jam up against the inside of your thighs, you gonna be wearing bruises when you walk away from this. Bulges lash frigid on your insides, more frisky than they usually are and give your flap a good tickle, make the muscles in your thighs tremor and you release one of her fronds so you can get your fidgetstubs on your own bulge. Stroke, base to tip and snarl out a long exhalation of pleasure as her released hand immediately sinks claws into what of you she can reach.

Her eyes are lost, she's gone. All rolled back as her hips buck up and slam into your ass, you adjust your own rhythm to take in that needy frenzy. The worm's driven her up and beyond, almost to the point of toppling over the cliff. If you were crueller, less refined as a kismesis as you motherfucking are (and without that pale lurking each and every fucking time waiting to trip you up) you'd make her wait. You'd do something as to make her come down, then drive her back up, then down, then up...

Then again, you do like motherfucking living.

You got a real penchant for getting your breathe on, having your pusher pumping.

And this _is_ the Empress underneath you, screaming like a purrbeast in the worst of bright season heats. You take a breath, and slam your hips down, riding her bulges like you wanna make her spill. You kind of motherfucking do - you're real close yourself. Just watching her writhe had gotten you going real good. Your body is aquiver with RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING MIRTH and you about to spill enough sacred purple to make it worth painting with. Rake your own claws down your side, and fist your bulge before you're spilling slurry all the fuck over her Imperial body. She reacts to your nook squeezing down on her nest of bulges by shoving her hips up and finishing herself off inside you, shuddering and bulges pumping ice-cold slurry to your furthest reaches. Cold, so _fucking_ cold inside you, right in your gut once your seedflap is done sucking it up while you shake your way through your own pleasure and out the other side.

Needless to say, a bitch isn't very handy for helping you to the bucket after, once you're done panting. You pull yourself back together, feeling full and liquid in the centre as you get yourself off the platform and waddle your way to a pail. She still almost blacked out on the platform, eyes rolled back and the bare tail of the nookworm just showing at the entrance to her nook. Every so often, a bitch would shudder. She ain't making a move to do much more, even her fins are barely flicking.

As much hilarity as it would be to leave her like that, you get the lil vial of pheromones and put a tease on your digit, coax that motherfucker on out. The squeal she lets out when the nookworm flips inside her to crawl out the way it came in is _glorious_ \- you'd be jelly it wasn't your bulge got that kinda noise outta here, but you just can't bring yourself to be when it's still because of you. That'd be stupid. The bright blue worm is a motherfuckload lot fatter, moving slow, and tinged pink at the extremities as you pick it up, take it over to the little glass cage you got and put it inside. That'd been... _a hellacious amount of education_.

For the both of you.

You lean in over the platform once you've gotten yourself clean and she still out like a ruffianihilator got her straight in the pan, and press your lips against her forehead. She makes a whiney noise, and you pull back, noting with satisfaction at the black and grey smeared lip print you've left behind. When she wakes up proper, she gonna spit the sicknasty kinds of pitchfires, and it's gonna be _amazing_ the next time the folie a deux of you roll down into proper spades. Gonna be good.

You leave her to her waking because you have shit to do, and the nookworm's legs drag over the glass and make a squeaking noise. There's nothing else in there of value, for when she has her inevitable tantrum. Whatever - after the way she dug her horns in, you're gonna need a new platform anyway. Better she gets that shit out on the furniture, and let the pitch come to a low simmer elsewhere when it's your husk involved. You don't have a personal death wish - Messiahs gonna rain down devastation on this whole universe soon enough. 

Playing with the Empress is just another way of passing time until inevitable and hilarious Armageddon - but it's fun as _fuck_.

calamitousCondescension [CC] began trolling totalitarianCaduceator [TC]

CC: i'm gonna krill you motherglubber  
CC: krill you right the fuck D-EAD  
TC: guess someone woke up from their motherfucking nap, huh  
TC: YOU LOOKED LIKE YOU ENJOYED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT SICKNASTY MESS, SISTER  
TC: far be it from a motherfucker to wake a bitch when she snoozing so peaceful  
CC: you bilgeous glubbing SCUMSUCK-ER  
CC: YOU SO D-EAD I'M GONNA MAKO SHOR-E TO TURN YOAR THINKPAN INTO A POT FOR M-E TO PISS IN  
TC: RUDE  
TC: i would have at least hoped a finfaced beach would use it for a pail  
TC: AFTER ALL WE'VE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER  
CC: you clownyfaced fuck don't mako me laugh i'm R-E-EL mad at you  
CC: i'm nettin off this fucking ship of fools and going back to the condescension  
CC: i sea any of yoar clowns on the wave outta pier i'm gonna be takin somefin hive wave me  
CC: get my arts and crafts on if you net my meaning you reefcrawler  
TC: yeah yeah  
TC: AN IMPERIOUS BITCH WON'T SEE HIDE NOR FUCKING HAIR OF NOBODY  
TC: so  
CC: mmm?  
TC: WHAT'D YOU DO TO THE WORM?  
CC: you wanna know wharf i did to the worm  
CC: outta everyfin that's what youuuu wanna minnow  
TC: just call a righteous brother curious  
CC: the worm's fin  
CC: i'm takin that BUSY lil motherglubber back wave me  
TC: OH HO?  
TC: >:o)  
CC: shut yoar fucking facegash  
CC: or i'll sew it shut  
TC: (o;  
CC: quit that  
TC: >;o)  
CC: UGH SO IMMATUR-E  
CC: i hope the next worm you stuff in yoar nook dies in there  
TC: Oo:>  
TC: kiss your lusus with that gash?  
CC: ----EAT SHIP KURLOZ MAKARA

calamitousCondescension [CC] stopped trolling totalitarianCaduceator [TC]

TC: <3<

totalitarianCaduceator [TC] is an idle troll!


	5. hr 101 critical whale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27\. Inappropriate location

"Whose administrative block even _is_ this, anywave?"

"Dost a wicked bitch even give one half of a shit? C'mere." 

Administrative cellulose planes rustle under your sweet ass as your Grand motherfucking Highblood, your big ole clownfish, lifts you up by the waist to sit you on the desk. You reach out to grab the necklace of fangs hanging down around his neck, tug him closer for a long satisfaction filled kiss. Tongue and teeth, biting, making a keening growl rise up in your thorax, thrumming through the base of your rumblespheres. It's not like you acshoally give a fuck about whose motherglubbing administrative plane you're pailing over the top of in here.

He does know you reeeeeel whale, this clownfish of yours.

It's fucking infuriating is what it is. He knows exactly how to kiss, when to bite, how to make things so your bulge is squirming out of your sheath, nook leaking fuchsia into the crotch of your bodysuit. With a sniggering laugh, he helps you outta the swim fucking tight spandex, peeling it down over your shoulders, your bounteous thighs. You snag a horn, and yank him down to your bulge, large and impearlicious magnificent as it squirms out behind of your boneshield, let out a shuddering groan as he grabs you up by the knee to spread you wider and then licks you from root to tip.

"Fuck!" You grab those long horns with their rough spirals by the base and hold on as he makes a disgusting mess of your nook, smearing greasy paint against your skin, his coarse-curled hair rubbing up against your thighs as you dig your heels into his shoulders. Head thrown back, moaning, not bothering to hide how good his tongue feels up your nook, against your bulge as it enthusiastically tries to burrow through his face. He sucks and mouths until you're not just leaking, you're gushing and he shows no glubbing sign of wanting to come up for air. "Cod DAMN, buoy, you're eager tonight."

He hums against your nook, the base of your bulgesheath and you yell, you ain't screaming. Not at fucking all. Like this fucking codfish could mako you scream! Even if his mouth feels so very good, kinda nice between your thighs, right up and hungry where you want it the most. You fist his horns, rubbing up and down the shaft of them, thumbs pressing into the sensitive base and he groans into you. Kick your legs and haul him up to kiss him, tasting your own bitter slurry and leaking a cod damn puddle onto the administrativeplane beneath your champion bass. Laughing again, you haul him in and croon whalesong at him as he unbuckles his pants and you sink your fangs into his shoulder as you pull him in with frond and walking stub, feeling that lukewarm bulge slide in and get real frondly with your nook.

It's been a long cycle. You desurf this, a nice easy romp with your clownfish with no fuckin interruptions, no courtiers trying to crawl up your chute and whining, always fucking whining. Your big ole Grand Highblood, he never whines at you. Beneath his glubbin dignity, what he got of it. Dragging your claws over his back in slow, painful arcs, you press your heels into the small of his back and urge him to pail you harder. Right into the nest of papers your ass is so delightgully fucking ensconced in, teeth snapping in idle threat at his throat.

The whole desk shudders underneath you and whale you think in another troll the sound you mackeral could be termed a squeal, you would never fucking deem it so coming out of your own chirpblister. And even though he hears it, your clownfish knows betta than to be anything other than mum about it. His thrusts do get a certain fucking oomph behind them after that though, and you let yourshellf go into the rising tide of your own pleasure. Enjoying getting pailed pitch and spiteful, like the marks he puts on your flesh are ones that are gonna stay.

When you pack up and leave, there is one _nasty_ fucking surprise spread out right across whatever pitiful motherglubber's administrativeplane you just defiled. Wharfebber. 

Ain't like it's _your_ probubblem - or your subordinate.

Whoever it is, you're sure your clownfish will sort them right the fuck out.

 

canteringTentation [CT] began trolling totalitarianCaduceator [TC]

CT:(⌐■_■)ノ My Lord, I surely must protest  
TC: protest what?  
TC: CAN'T THINK OF A SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING THING AS COMES TO MAKE YOU SORE HAUNCHED, PONY BITCH  
CT:(■Д■*) Your Mirthfulness  
TC: that's my title, don't wear it out  
TC: AIN'T EXACTLY THE NAME I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMIN  
TC: to be complete motherfucking fair  
CT:(⌐■~■;) My possible future e%claimations aside  
CT:( ▀ 益 ▀ ) May we discuss the state of my office  
CT: (⌐■_■) Lest these possible passionate e%halations become less than hypothetical  
CT:(⌐■_■) Or even theoretical  
CT:(⌐■_■) And become quite possibly e%ceptionally unlikely for the distant future  
TC: OUCH  
TC: you know for a motherfucker with a humiliation kink and that unholy fucking thing about hoofbeasts, which remember, i do indulge thee in to mine own detriment  
TC: YOU ARE REAL REGULAR UNRIOTOUS MOUTHY  
CT:(⌐■_■) I am the picture perfect of b100b100ded submission  
CT:(⌐■_■) As you know percheronally  
CT:(■Д■*) But I would much prefer it if you managed your conquests in a more appropriate location henceforth  
CT:(⌐■_■) Your platform, to be precise  
TC: how do you know i wasn't her conquest, zahhak  
TC: CHEW THAT AROUND YOUR DENTAL STUMPS FOR A BITCH  
CT:(⌐■_■) The identity of the troll you whinnied away the time with had not escaped me  
CT:(⌐■_■) I manetain that almost any other block would have been mare suitable  
TC: you know this ain't the last time right  
CT:(⌐■_■) I am painfoally aware  
CT:(⌐■_■) It's not as though this is even the first time  
TC: SO YOU SHOULD MOTHERFUCKING KNOW BETTER THAN TO EVEN BRING IT UP  
TC: would it make a supercilious motherfucking atheist bitch feel better if the next spill is blue?  
CT:( ▀ 益 ▀ ) Not in the slightest, Your Hilarity  
TC: DON'T GIVE ME THAT KIND OF MOTHERFUCKING LIP, BLUE  
CT:(⌐■_■) Pray e%cuse me, my lord, I have work to get to  
CT:(⌐■_■) And a mess to clean up  
CT:(⌐■_■)Good dawn, sir  
TC: aw come the FUCK on bro 

canteringTentation [CT] stopped trolling totalitarianCaduceator [TC]

TC: SERIOUSLY? THIS IS HOW YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BLOOD SUPERIOR?  
TC: blue, you better get that tight clenched pony ass back here RIGHT FUCKING NOW

canteringTentation [CT] is an idle troll!

TC: FUCK IT.  
TC: i'll talk to you when you're feeling sensible again, Executor  
TC: LET A RIGHTEOUS BROTHER KNOW WHEN YOU'RE QUIT PITCHING YOUR BITCH FIT, BITCH.

totalitarianCaduceator [TC]stopped trolling canteringTentation [CT]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkleer mood: (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻)


	6. slammin the clam (greasin the pink fish taco)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. Masturbation

Sometides you're pretty shore that kicking the whole Empire into space was one of the worst mistakes you ever fucking made.

Not that you would let on to one _single_ motherfucker.

But right now you are horny as _glub_ , and it's not like you're admitting anyfin to anyone besides yourshellf. You alone, in that big fucking empty platform. In your big ole block on your sleek beautiful ship. Closed the shut-struts uptight, and retired with death threatened to anybaydy who dared disturb your rest. Usually there's at least one of your fish you don't mind the thought of rolling on the platform - but that ain't true right now. Ain't what you want, ain't what you need. 

You don't want no toadfish. Don't want no fuckin courtier. Don't want someone so conchcerned with licking and kissin your bass that they roll right over, don't give you nofin worth having. Right minnow, that all you got. You got SHIT. You got fucking _beaches_ all up in your nug, making out like they're here to surf you when reelly they're only out for what they can get outta you. It's not like you're dumb. You wouldn't still be here if you were _fucking stupid_. You know your clownfish wants what he can get out of you too, but he does it with _style_ , and he never makes you feel like it's the only thing he wants out of you is the power and shadow of your empire so he can keep on creepin on, doing his fucking clown shit with all his fucking clowns.

You lick your fingers, and trail them down your gills, stroking the slits in your throat gentle-wise and on the way down to your side. Feather your touch over them, and close your sightnuggets. 

Let yourself imagine. 

Think about what it would be like to get in a reel proper tussle with your clownfish. Smear his paint, sink your fangs into his gashflap. Your bulge is starting to feel interested in the proceedings, so you reach down to massage your sheath and coax the little feelers on out. You're starting to leak, royal fuckin tyrian right onto the snuggleplanes. Manta wind up bein a moment of gossip for the rusties on your ship - who cares? Gill got needs, she can take cray of them her own fucking self.

Your other hand lifts to your face, and you rub your cheeks, down under your jaw as your hips lift up. Your bulge is out, your nook is hungry, so you give that fucker the unsatisfying fill of your frondstubs. Rubbing the heel of your palm up against the base of your sheath as it opens up, bulge trying to grasp at something. Anyfin. But you only got so many graspers, and you like them the way they are right now. One on your face and satisfying your pacification receptors and the other fucking your nook in reel pale imitation of a proper sized bulge. Like the one your Grand Highblood boasts of.

Nnngh, he got a reel wave with it too. You're all shivery just thinking of it. And his nook - you fuckin LOVE his nook. You know you just aboat the only one who nets in it. Gets to play with him like that. You love to do that shit to him, get that big brave mess of a motherfucking clown all on his back under you. Or up against a wall, on an administrativeplane, in the nutrition block, anywhere at all. 

Love the way he gets his facegash on you, tongue feasting on your insides and around your bulge like the spill you're giving out is his terrible fucking Faygo. Slurping it up like it's so glubbing tasty. As though he couldn't get enough. You're less of a fan of how that means he leaves greasepaint smeared up your thighs and on your belly but for the chance to ride his face like a motherfucking dirty carnival ride, you'll abide. 

He's got a way of quieting you down that you wouldn't let no other fucker living get close enough to you to do. Got a hand big enough to cover one whole side of your face, press his thumb right against your chitinous windtunnel like _so_. You grip your throat the same way he would, but it doesn't give you the same fucking _ease_. Your claws prick your skin, fingers too slender, nails too long, grasper too small to give you the same feel. It's a disappointment, but you're still knuckledeep in your nook and thrusting them in and out, your body is responding like it's gonna climb the hill and get there somehow. When you crook your fingers just the right wave, you get a pulse of pain running down your spine that almost reminds you of him.

Thinkpan ain't all on board, ruminating on how disappointing it is to be here alone but you're determined to fucking finish yourself off. Don't need him. Don't need no fucking body. Your body is warming up, the slick sound of your fingers in your nook getting louder. You leave it be to move on to your bulge, gripping and tangling with your frondstubs. Stroking it before leading it down to your nook, getting your other grasper off your face and onto your 'spheres and gills. Making sensations of lightning race up and down your spine.

Hips are rising and rolling steady as waves and you're getting close, you can feel it. Feels good, feels satisfying. You think about sinking your claws into his shitty fake ass gills, ripping down his sides. Think about fucking him on his own fucking throne, making him spill out tyrian and purple right onto the symbol of his priesthood, think about curling up with him in a pile. Soft as feathers and pale as foam. Body touch warmer than yours, comforting and smells like nasty fucking paint and blood, like shitty soda and something he's told you is stardust. Makes your sniffnode tingle when you smell it on his skin. Think about his rough purr, the way it reverberates all the way through your frame when you lie on top of him, his lean skeletal frame pinned down by your curvaceous weight. The way his hair feels in your fingers when you run them through. The crooked grin he gets when he thinks he's being so fucking smart.

Basshoal.

But he's _your_ basshoal, from horntips to walknubs.

It doesn't take much more for you to spill, and you flood the platform with tyrian as you scream-howl into the emptiness of it. Let your limbs twitch, your hips kick up as you keep stroking and touching, push yourself through orgasm and past it. If anyone's listening, they can hear how well you enjoy yourself, who the fuck cares. You don't. You're fucking fine as fucking anemones. 

When you're done, you get up from your empty platform and go to your ablutioncloset to sluice yourself clean. Ain't in the mood to soak yourself, so you ignore the trap and just turn your face up to the water and let it pound away your cares. When you're clean, you make your way to your recuperacoon and let your body slip right on down to the slime to let it while away what remains of those fucking cares you'd been carrying about and turned to riding your hand solo to dispell.

Maybe it's betta with two, but one can get the job done and you feel at least a little appeased. For now.

It really has been a whale since you seen your clown. Ain't like it's he doing anything important. You're pretty shore about that. When the fuck is he ever really doing anything important for _you_ , which is the important conchsideration here. When you really think about it. 

You wonder what reasoning you can fabricate to bring the Dread Carnival in line with the route of the Battleship Condescension, and just how soon.


	7. i'm a mess, i'm a user (i'm obsessed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 64\. Explaining their relationship to someone who didn’t know
> 
> Co-starring (briefly), the Signless.

You are all fucking done with this SHIT now, you are done, you are fucking _over all of this fucking shit_. You're about to blow your top and if you didn't - if you didn't have all of these main motherglubbing _traitors_ in your grasp right now (finally, _FINALLY_ ), you think you'd explode. When you got the word that they'd all four - the mutant, the pissblood battery, the feral and the degenerate fucking jadeblood (COD, you're so angry about _her_ but you think the Anchorite is even more pissed than _you are_ ) - been captured by the subjuggulators, you'd pulled a halt to everyfin on your nutrition plateau and fucked right off with everything that you were meant to be doing.

And cod damn, don't you have shit to do. You're the Empress and all. But squashing this raybellion has been one of the biggest things you'd had on your plecto for the last fucking - fuck. Had it really been five sweeps? Five. FUCKING. Sweeps. When no one could catch them, when no one would give them up. Couldn't get a traitor close to them for the life of you, couldn't get a lowblood to squeal on them in a way that mattered. The tormentogattors took them apart, but it didn't matter. You'd had all of your keenest legislacerators loosed, but all they ever got were scraps. Until now, until right the FUCK minnow.

Now you got em. You got em all. Swept em up in your net, brought them to the deck gasping and choking in the air once you pulled them outta the water of fucking _deceit_ that they'd been swimming in. You're downright fuckin benevolent, you're the best Empress these beaches could be lucky enough to have, you don't know what the _fuck_ their problem is.

You've alwaves liked to go straight to the pusher of a probubblem so when you hit the subjuggulator stockade where they're being held for trial and handing over to the Cruellest Bar before being handed straight back to the clowns for execution, your walking fronds take you straight down.

And down.

Down.

You shed your retinue of courtiers in your wake like decency coverings at the end of a long night's work, heftsack holster _that way_ , panties the otter way. Peeled off your comet tail like stardust debris by subjuggulators, by your mirthful fucking clownfish as you go deeper and deeper, heels hitting the stone of stair after stair. They don't fucking like things too glubbing fancy around here, which means no god damned fucking elevators (fucking Troll Luddite clowns). You're not looking forward to hiking your way back up, but for now your rage carries you down in spirals until you're in the darkest parts. Where you know your big motherglubber, the Grand Highblood, main man of the Mirthful Messiahs, he's waiting. Or working. Probubbly workin, gettin shit done, the way you both need things to be _done_. You want this ripple in your fucking pond smoothed right the fuck out. You don't want to have to put one single bit of worry about any of this shit, this - what the fuck did they call themshellves? - Signless fucking treachery any moray.

 _Blasphemy_ , is what he calls it. Heresy. Whatever, it's traitorous is what the fuck it is. 

When you get down to the level you know he has to keeping these fuckers on, you throw furious glances to your left and right, looking for the one who's tried to bring your Empire to its knees. You to your knees. And you don't _get_ to your fuckin knees for just anybaydy, and be damned if you'll be _made_ to kneel. You mako other people kneel; that's almost your entire fucking job.

You know what he looks like, thanks to a pic your clownfish sent on over to you. Round face, serious expression, lowblood stocky-ass body, very fucking emotive eyes and lil nubby horns. There's all sorts down here, crying and whimpering in their cells where they wait until the subjuggulators pull them out of them again. Smells like blood and mould down here, like it always does. Would it kill them to get a rustie to run a mop around the plaice? Who knew, it just might.

When you spot him in one of the fartherest and meanest cells, the surge of rage you feel in your pan makes your logic short circuit. With a hissing rattling snarl, you _throw_ yourself forward, planning on ripping the bars out with your bare fucking hands so you can get them around his _fucking mutant windchute_ and choking the life out of him. You hate being scared - you're never gonna admit anywhere betides the deepest recesses of your thinkpan but you were - he'd - you'd been _afraid_. How dare anyone make you feel afraid, ever again. You're midway to bending one of the bars so you can slip inside without worrying a single fucking one of the subjuggulators for a key, you don't want to bother them when you're dealing with a little SHIT like this, and he's scrambled off the pallet he'd been sitting on and is looking at you with a look of understanding, of sympathy, that makes you burn to claw his fucking gaze-orbs out with your beautifully manicured claws. Right OUTTA his braincase.

"Shoosh, sis," a low voice rumbles from behind, and you shriek outrage as big arms wrap around you, pinning your arms to your chest and picking you off the ground. Cod DAMN it, you can smell Faygo and blood and you know there ain't no other motherfucker who would dare do somefin like this to you. Not anybaydy atoll besides one. You sink your fangs into what you can reach and kick your legs before calming down with an effort as he keeps holding onto you, stardust and Faygo making you chill despite your fucking self. Fuck. " _Shoosh._ "

"Fuck you," you whine resentfully as his hand touches your cheek, because you don't WANNA shoosh. You wanna get real glubbing rowdy here. He lets you slip down so your feet hit the floor again and you take a deep breath, throw your shoulders back and get a hold of yourself. Not Empressly fucking behaviour, was it now? Not fuckin reelly. Even if it felt reel nice to get that mad, kinda soothing in its own way. "I'm good - you can lemme go, cod damn, clownfish, anyone would think you was worried or somefin."

He doesn't step back, but he does stop hugging at you. Just kinda fucking hovers, at your shoulder - looming. He's real good at looming, your ole rockcreeper. You've bit your lip, you can taste blood, so you reach up into your hair behind your headpiece and pull a make-up compact out of it and some lipstick. Taking some you time, while the mutant traitorblood who ain't never shoulda wiggled outta the Caverns just _stares_ at the two of you like you're a glubbin sideshow. 

"I'd spray take a pike-ture, shorty, butterfish I'm gonna guess you ain't got nofin to tang one wave," you snarl, and then shut up because you ain't the type to go smearing your gashpaint all over your motherglubbin face willynilly. Gotta concentrate on this shit, and not flap your gums. You press your lips together then release them with a pop, give yourshellf a final once over in the mirror - yep, lookin' reel damn good. Beauty of the Empire, slaughterer of millions. Ok. You got it, you got this ship. Still gonna krill him, not gonna lose your head. Not gonna get perchsonal about this shit. "You still strip their specibuses an' ship, rayght?"

Ocray, so cull you, you've got a few more puns creeping in than normal. This ain't what you'd call a normal situation. You ain't feeling real fucking settled, if someone would net what you're putting down here and cod fucking damn it, you don't want to feel this way over some _freak blooded fucking nobaydy._ And yet. Here you are. Eeling this way. Feeling 'eelings all over the fucking plaice.

"Oh yeah. All he's got is rags -" "Excuse me-" "And a real fuckin big blabber mouth, ain't that motherfucking so?" Your Grand Highblood rolls right on over the top of the interjection from the filth in front of you, and you tuck your shit back into your hair. How's that work, someone might manta ask? You ain't shelling. Your own private fucking baysness. Anyway, you feel betta now you got your warpaint back on and prettied up and you take a breath. Look the traitor mutant in the eye.

He looks you fucking back. Of all the _fucking nerve_. Who the shell does he think he is?

"Shore, whale, we all minnow he got a reel big fuckin' mouth, part a the reason he's pier in the first glubbin' plaice, buoy..."

"Excuse me," he repeats as your indignation winds to a stop for a moment and giving him somewhere to speak up without being overtalked on, as though you didn't hear him the first time and weren't just ignoring him. Heaving a sigh, you look down your nose at him, glad to see someone around here is shorter than you. Not that you would need the height to make your presence known, it'd just be nice. That's all it is. "I know it's regrettably nosy, but if I'm going to die in the evening, I'd like to at least satisfy my curiosity. May I ask you both a rather personal question?"

"Oh my cod, what the fuck."

"You both seem pretty close," he starts off, mostly diplomatic in tone and you snort through your nose, feeling your fins fan out at the sides of your face. Your clownfish's hand is pretty firmly plastered to your ass. It's the favourite place he's got to put it when you're together. S'pose you can't reelly blame him, your bass is pretty fuckin choice. "Can I ask what quadrant?"

"Oh wow, you reeeeeelly gonna go there," you gasp out, half-laughing at his sheer fucking sass but the other half of you is snarling with rage. Fins pricking up, feeling the fuchsia bloom across your cheeks, the bridge of your sniffnode as your bioluminescence comes to light in a rush of fight or _fight_. Tyrians don't really come with a flight instinct. Although sometimes you ain't mind a reel good _fuck_. This stubby sprat doesn't trigger that kind of feel in you. Not one bit. "Don't sea how it's any of your glubbing baysness, you mutant _fuck_ -"

"Shooooosh." The massively oversized clownhand that's not plastered to your ass comes up and strokes your cheek, knuckle of a scarred thumb pressing against spots that make you want to curl up like a grub. You huff, and reach up to yank on his fucking hair. He just rumbles a laugh, and you can feel his attention going to the mutant who's still staring at you both like you're something fascinating, him laser sharp. Attention drawn like a meowbeast to a hopcritter on the forest floor. Only this hopcritter doesn't seem to have the fucking sense to know he's staring a predator in the eye, instead he just looks - fond? Somehow soft. Like what he's seeing is something sweet, something he hadn't expected to see but was glad to.

Everything about this mouthy little bulgesore just makos you even remora pissed off. What right does he have to look at you like that? What right does he have to do anyfin, even breathe? Especially in your imperial presence, cod damn.

"Whatever we motherfucking feel like," the idiot you got next to you rumbles out. "What's needed. Black as abyss, pale as sand, what the fuck ever's called for."

"What, you wanna go glubbin this ship up now?" you say, once you get over your case of codfish. The fuck? Usually, he's even more close mouthed than you. The mutant just looks...surprisingly satisfied, almost as though he's touched by the words the Highblood is grinding out in his threatening rumble. This squid be whack. "Ain't nobody's business."

"Why not?" His hand caresses your lower back, and he leans down over you to get closer to the bars. If the mutant was any type of sensibubble, he'd move back. He ain't so he don't. You're kinda fuckin fascinated by just how fuckin suicidal he seems to be. Never seen someone so keen to throw themselves onto the culling fork, especially since he spent so many sweeps hiding from you, running from your grip. Mmm, but you shore your clownfish has somefin reel special in mind for him. Somefin amazing. Showstopping. You almost can't wait. "Doesn't matter what a motherfucker says to a corpse walking." 

"S'pose." You turn a little on your heel, and yank his face down to yours, looking him proper in the gazerbulbs. He looms over you, a mountain of hair and muscles that smells like old blood, corruption and sugary rot. Your nostrils flare, and you don't know what you wanna do wave him. Slap him or pap him. It's an ongoing conundrum. "You minnow what? Tell him what you pike; do your fin-g, baybe." You pull harder, lean up, caress the side of his face with your hand and when you kiss him, you make him bleed. "I just wanna sea him get reel fucked up when you execute him. Ceviche?"

"You got it, my most tyrannous and condescending of sisters." He licks blood off his lip from where you bit him and traces a finger down across yours. Probably smearing your gashpaint you just fucking applied, but that's just how this ship rolls sometide. "You know a righteous wicked brother knows what a bitch likes."

At his almost sultry purr, you can't help but laugh and you feel the most enormous fucking relief shoot up through you, from your toes to your horns. When your Grand Highblood says a thing - it's always been as good as done. He'd told you he'd get them, these motherglubbers fucking up your Empire, going around and saying ship like all trolls should be treated equally. Like kindness maybe wasn't a weakness. Fucking morayons. 

You still don't get what they even wanted to accomplish, but now you don't have to worry about it. You won't have to worry about any of this shit, ever again. Chop the head off, the hissnoodle dies. Isn't that the way it works? It's worked before. Dude doesn't even have the decency to be your blood colour, and look at him, fucking all this shit up for no good cod damn reason.

"Alright, whale. You have fun." You look over your shoulder at the mutant, who has come so far forward he has his hands on the bars now. And he looks _sorry_ for you or somefin, what the fuck. If anyone should be feeling sorry for anybody here, it's you for him. Except you don't. Because he desurfs the fuck outta everyfin your subjuggulator in chief is gonna do to him. Fucking everybody's pans the way he has, getting in all this talk about peace and love. Love. What the fuck does love have to do with anyfin? "I'm gonna catch a nap, buoy. Wake me up when you come up."

He just grins and brings your wrist to his mouth, kisses your pulse and leaves a smear of gray on your skin before letting you go. Oh cod, you gotta walk up all them glubbin stairs now. You rake the mutant with one more look, nubby horns, worn clothes and that _god damn understanding look_ on his face that makes you want to rip his eyes outta his skull. Your earfins flare and flick, and you turn on your heel as the clown behind you bends and the lock of the door opens with a quiet click.

You are kinda tired. Now you got all that outta you. You hear the first pained gasp as you head back up the stairs, and you let out a deep sigh of pleasure, feeling something throb through your bones. Right through to your nook.

Now that's the kinda sound you wanna hear outta your rebels.

Suffering.

Alrayght, you gonna hit the sopor. Gotta look your best for the execution in the evening, don't ya? Might not be the guest of honour - but you still planning on blinging it up. You grin as your heels land firmly on each step as you haul your bass back to the surface. You know just the perchfect outfit too. And your clownfish? He'll be extra eager to strip it off you later in private after some blood letting, some killa fun. It was gonna be a _busy_ kinda night. S'gonna be reel good and you'll never _ever_ hear the name of this fucking Signless, ever ever again.


	8. the internet is just a series of tubes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30\. ~~Phone~~ Pesterlog sex

totalitarianCaduceator [TC] began trolling calamitousCondescension [CC] 

TC: hey bitch, you up?  
TC: FISHBITCH  
TC: yo  
TC: MEENAH  
TC: brother's just gonna go blind here, i see how it's gonna be.  
CC: shut yoar motherglubbin trap, buoy u gonna give me a pan-ache  
CC: and i ain't ebben be H-EARING yoar whining in perchson  
CC: the fuck's up?  
TC: TWO GUESSES AND I'LL GIVE YOU THE FIRST FOR FREE.  
TC: [;o)](https://media.giphy.com/media/p7sCfhJ1NLDpu/giphy.gif)  
CC: ...  
CC: 38\  
CC: ugh u so nastay i can knot bereef.  
CC: alrayght a beach is outtie. u have fun wave what u got goin on by ur own fuckin shellf  
TC: nah nah, c'mon, meenah.  
TC: BEEN A WHILE, HUH?  
CC: moby for u it has been.  
TC: like you even really enjoy fucking those pallid asskissing fish  
TC: BET THEY BARELY SCRATCH AN ITCH, FOR SUCH A KILLMONGERING WITCHYBITCH  
CC: don't u start slamming @ me, guppy.  
CC: mmm  
CC: so what did u have in mind? moby i'm bored enough i'll take u up on it.  
CC: moby naut but let's sea. pitch it to me, buoy.  
TC: just talk it out, like this.  
CC: what, pike some fuckin wigglers on their first tour?  
TC: PRETTY MOTHERFUCKING MUCH.  
TC: you saying you don't got what it takes?  
TC: SO MOTHERFUCKING UNIMAGINATIVE THAT YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE UNFUCKINGFULFILLED FROM YOUR WORDS  
TC: you gotta actually be here to get me off?  
CC: oh it is glubbing on u piece of ship.  
CC: i'm gonna motherglubbing woo u like a drone culling a motherfucker who ain't filled their filial pails.  
TC: [<3<](https://media.giphy.com/media/yidUzCpZnp0XplNn56/giphy.gif)  
CC: don't u '<3<' @ me, dirty old mime  
TC: [<3<!](https://media.giphy.com/media/tMRciGxNR37va/giphy.gif)  
CC: fuck. u.  
TC: WELL, I'M SEDUCED.  
CC: cod, if u were here rayght now, i'd get my claws right into u.  
CC: i'd rake u up one side and down the otter until u were just as much purple as black.  
CC: next tide we meet up, i'm gonna mako u fuckin cry. how's that sound, beeeeach?  
TC: [(♥ｏ♥)](https://media.giphy.com/media/Z8fvM0BxTxIbu/giphy.gif)  
TC: now that's more motherfucking like it.  
TC: NOTHING SOFT ABOUT YOU, THRILLA KILLA QUEEN.  
TC: maybe i'll be the one to get you begging.  
CC: psssssh.  
TC: GET MY FRONDSTUBS UP AGAINST YOUR GILLS, MY MANDIBLES ON YOUR THROAT.  
TC: motherfucking suffocate you with my nook, gonna make you taste the paint.  
CC: moby i'll swing it another wave.  
CC: u get so soft and needing when i get my graspers on ur hideous fuckin cheeks.  
CC: shoooooosh.  
CC: shshshshoooosh.  
TC: KINKY BITCH.  
CC: u love it, clownfish.  
CC: and u kno i got the touch to get u R-E-ELING.  
TC: not like you're any motherfucking better, my neediest of spades.  
TC: A SHOOSH AND PAP, AND A THOROUGH MOTHERFUCKING NOOK-LICKING, THAT'S WHAT YOU NEED.  
TC: you're all motherfucking strung out.  
TC: GONNA GET MY FLAVOURSLAB ALL OVER WHERE YOU LIKE IT BEST.  
CC: oh yeah?  
CC: shell me moray.  
TC: fuck, meenah. at least tell me you've got your bulge out.  
CC: u gonna have to work harder for that, motherglubber.  
TC: GONNA BRUSH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HAIR ALL THE WAY OUT.  
CC: low blow, makara  
CC: lowwwww blow.  
TC: brush it till it's shining. do your frondspikes up nice too.  
TC: BRING OUT SOME REAL NICE CLAWPAINT. PURPLE SPARKLES SUIT A MOTHERFUCKING SENTIMENTAL BITCH?  
CC: cod damn  
TC: then you can coat them all over up again when you claw my back up something motherfucking fierce.  
TC: I WANNA FEEL THE ACHE ALL THE WAY BACK TO MY SHIP.  
TC: gonna ride you like a motherfucking buckbeast, fishbitch, and wring every drop of slurry from your globes.  
CC: ship. i'm gonna wreak ur motherfucking faygo stock, baybe.  
CC: moby i'll get some just so u can watch me pour it out down the glubbing sink. a whale case of it ebben.  
TC: YOU MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMING BITCH.  
TC: you would do that to the miraculous elixir?  
CC: i'd piss in it and mako u take a fucking sip, babes.  
CC: anyfin to get u roaring like some stupid bass aquatic tuskbeast with a sore in its flapper.  
TC: YOU ARE SO MOTHERFUCKING VILE.  
TC: fuck, i'm gonna ruin this seat.  
CC: that close already huh?  
CC: 38P~  
CC: man o war, i swear i can taste u from pier. bet ur sweatin almost as bad as that snotty lil blue beach u keep around.  
CC: i'm gonna give u some brand new scars, baybe.  
TC: fuck. i almost can't wait to hear you singing out to the messiahs for the pleasure i'm giving you.  
TC: GONNA WREAK YOUR GOD DAMN IMPERIAL SHIT  
TC: rub your face in your motherfucking defeat when i get you begging for more.  
CC: uh huh, that rayght?  
CC: gotta admit, i love ur fuckin nook.  
CC: so tight on my bulge. i'm gonna fill u like a glubbin bucket.  
CC: u minnow ur my beach, clownfish, don't ebben front.  
TC: I'M GONNA PIN YOU TO THE PILE AND GET YOU SO SWITCHED BACK BETWEEN PALE AND PITCH  
TC: you ain't gonna know your horns from your ass.  
CC: now who's the kinky fuck? 38O  
CC: cod damn it i can't get enough fingers in my nook  
CC: ur such a basshoal, i can't believe u started this when ur at least a cycle awave.  
TC: A LITTLE MOTHERFUCKING PATIENCE IS A MESSIAHS' BLESSED VIRTUE.  
TC: shoooooosh, sis.  
CC: fuck fuck fuck!  
CC: use ur grasper on ur cheeks, baybe, i wanna think aboat u pacifying urself when i'm not there  
CC: i'm bettin that ur other frond is on ur bulge, dirty fuckin clown.  
TC: YOU'D BE RIGHT. BUT IT AIN'T AS GOOD AS YOU, MY BLACKEST DIAMOND.  
TC: where did i put that fucking bucket fuuuuuuck  
CC: aw fuck!  
CC: ...  
TC: ...  
TC: [;oD~](https://media.giphy.com/media/Ky2FVZfOauEvK/giphy.gif)  
CC: cod damn it ur gross.  
CC: minnow i need a glubbin ablution. this was a stupid idea.  
TC: I FEEL MOTHERFUCKING BETTER THOUGH.  
CC: and that's what's R-E-ELLY important here.  
TC: a righteous motherfucker sure thinks so.  
TC: MOTHERFUCK THIS COMFORTBLOCK IS A GOD DAMN RUIN  
TC: never did get that bucket in time.  
CC: oh my cod, ur such a shipwreck  
CC: least i got an excuse  
CC: why didn't u have it ready? U messaged M-E.  
TC: THAT'S WHAT JANITERRORISTS ARE FOR.  
TC: any motherfucking way, i'm gonna hit the slime.  
TC: THANKS FOR THE FUN, BITCH.  
CC: i ain't shore u whalecome. fuck, i'm a mess.  
TC: next time i'll be there to help clean up.  
CC: u motherglubbin betta  
CC: ship, i need to clean up like rayght minnow.  
CC: u know what, clownfish? next time u get the urge and ur on ur ship, u can take of it ur own shellf.  
TC: WE'LL MOTHERFUCKING SEE.  
TC: morning, meenah.  
CC: go fuck yoarshellf, kurloz.

calamitousCondescension [CC] ceased trolling totalitarianCaduceator [TC]

TC: MY WORK HERE IS DONE

totalitarianCaduceator [TC] has logged off!


End file.
